Football
by Emily92
Summary: In which the author bashes one of America's favorite sports. Featuring angry Pam, idiotic Roy, and clueless Kenny.


**Author's Notes:** I mean no offence to any football fans or players whom may be reading this. Rated T for language.

**Disclaimer: **Four words: I don't own them.

* * *

The sounds of the Superbowl being broadcasted from the downstairs television meshed with Roy and Kenny's loud voices giving random comments here and there (_Nice play! _or_ Dude, what the hell are you doing?_). It was the perfect recipe to give a certain receptionist a nasty headache. It didn't help that Roy insisted on having the television at full volume.

Pam sighed; she hated Superbowl Sunday with a passion. She had never been a football fan. What was there to like about a bunch of oversized men crashing into each other at such colossal speeds that it was practically guaranteed that one would sustain some type of injury? The whole ordeal, in Pam's opinion, was overrated and reeked of testosterone. She had tried to forget about her lack of love for football while she and Roy had been dating in high school (he had, after all, been captain and star player of the varsity team). However, it had soon become clear that it would simply have to be a difference between the two of them.

One of many, many differences, Pam thought morosely to herself. She and Roy had next to nothing in common. They were opposites in the most prominent sense. They could never agree on plans for the weekend; Pam usually wanted to go to a coffee shop or an art museum, while Roy, assuming he wanted to go out at all, lived for Poor Richard's. Gradually, Pam had stopped asking Roy to that new art museum or her favorite restaurant in order to avoid the arguments (_What do you mean we never do anything? We just went to Kenny's last week!_) or his hurtful comments (_Art is really boring, Pammy_). _We never do anything together anymore, _Pam realized sadly.

Think about the good things, Pam urged herself, _the positive aspects of your relationship with Roy. _She thought for a few moments and searched her mind. _He's been there for me for nearly eight years, he sometimes rubs my feet when they're really sore, and we've been together for a long time, so we know each other really well._

Pam reflected on that last statement. _We've been together for a long time, so we know each other really well. _She began to ponder it's accuracy. How well did he really know Roy? She knew random and arbitrary facts about him, but was that the same things as knowing him, really knowing him? Pam already had a headache from Roy and Kenny shouting along with their loud football game, and this internal debate wasn't helping her. _But still?_ Pam's mind refused to leave her alone, _is knowing what his favorite food is the same as knowing what kind of person he is? Who is Roy, anyway?_ _He's my boyfriend of seven years, and my fiancé, football fanatic and warehouse worker at Dunder Mifflin. But who _is _he? Do I know? Honestly, do I know? And does he know who I am?_

Pam thought about herself and Roy as of late. Each morning, they got up and Pam put together some sort of breakfast for the both of them. Roy didn't even ask her to anymore; he just expected it. They barely said two words to each other in the morning, they were both tired and they did not have much to discuss. Proceeding breakfast, they rode to Dunder Mifflin in Roy's old and beat up truck. Then they exchanged a brief hug and he was off to the warehouse while she endured Michael and talked to Jim all day. Then, after the end of the workday, they rode home in Roy's old truck and Pam cooked dinner while Roy watched something on television. Their routine was ordinary and familiar. It grew more so with every day. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Months became years. Years of the same predictable way of life. Every day. Every week. Every month. It was all the same.

Pam wondered if her life would be this predicable if it was Jim she was with rather than Roy…_No, don't think about Jim; he's irrelevant to this whole thing. Jim. He's my best friend…_

"PAMMY!" Roy shouted from the living room, interrupting her thoughts.

Pam exited their bedroom and entered the room that Roy and Kenny occupied, "What, Roy?"

"Didn't you hear me earlier? I called you like three times," Roy complained.

"Sorry," Pam muttered.

"Well, go get us more beer. Kenny and I have finished the stuff you got earlier," Roy continued, "And get the good stuff, not that cheap crap you bought earlier."

"Get your own damn beer," Pam said through clenched teeth.

"What?" Roy asked. He was distracted as most of most of his attention was focused on the game, "C'mon, Pam. Beer."

"I SAID GET YOUR OWN DAMN BEER!" Pam shouted as something inside of her snapped, "I'm sick of this, Roy. I'm not your personal slave. You expect me to make your breakfast and dinner. I'm sick and tired of it, so you can get your own fucking beer!"

Kenny looked at Pam in shock and amazement. Roy glared at her.

"Are you done with your little rant yet?" he asked angrily.

"No, as a matter of fact, I am not 'done with my little rant yet'! I'm breaking up with you, you idiot!"

"What?" Roy exclaimed, "Pammy, what the _hell_? What do you mean, you're breaking up with me?"

"I mean exactly what I said," Pam informed him, "You, me - what do we have in common anymore? You like football. I like art. You like sleeping in until 11:00 while I like getting up at 8:00. You don't even know that I'm an early bird, but I am! I like to get up and paint, but you didn't know that, did you?"

Roy looked upset. Pam sighed.

"Don't you see Roy? We're like a pair of old, mismatched socks. We're just not meant to be," Pam finished. She took off her engagement ring and gave it back to him, "Here. I'm going to go pack."

"Where will you go?" Roy asked quietly.

"To my mom's," Pam replied, "Goodbye Roy. Bye Kenny."

"NEW ENGLAND WINS!" Kenny shouted, as if he had been unaware of the massive argument going on around him.

* * *

"Pam, Pam," someone shook her gently.

"Huh?" Pam asked sleepily as she looked up into a pair of loving eyes.

"You're seriously scaring me, Beesly," Jim told his wife with a smile, "First, I'm up before you are, which has never happened before - you're such an early bird. But I figured I'd let you sleep because it's Superbowl Sunday, and I know you hate football."

Pam replied, "I was dreaming."

"Yeah, I figured" Jim chuckled, "You kept saying 'bye Kenny'."

Pam laughed, "I was talking to Roy's brother in my sleep?"

"It would seem so."

"Come here," Pam said, and Jim lay down next to her. Somehow, they both knew that they would not be watching much football on that particular day.


End file.
